


Living in the green

by Fatale (femme)



Series: illegal in fifty states [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins in a fight, and it ends in a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living in the green

Living in the green  
Summary: It begins in a fight, and it ends in a fight.  
Rating: PG13 for language  
WC: 1350

[Illegal in fifty states](http://fatale.livejournal.com/161377.html) is first, [Devil's in the Details](http://fatale.livejournal.com/162441.html) is second and this is last. Need to read the others to get this? Maybe. Dean got off with Sam in "Illegal in fifty states" and walked into a fairly obvious trap in "Devil's in the Details". That should bring you up to speed. This is just a kind of coda to really finish things off.

 

 

A Dean that's not flirting with every set of breasts they come across is a seriously fucked up Dean.

"What can I do for ya, honey?" the waitress asks, and sure, she's probably the wrong side of forty, but that never stopped Dean before.

Instead Dean glances at his menu and snaps it shut. "Just a burger. No pickles."

"Same," Sam says and studies Dean.

He doesn't ask if he’s okay, because that'd just earn a smartassy remark and wouldn't help at all.

In a few minutes, the waitress brings back the food and sets it down with a sympathetic glance in Sam's direction.

 _Is he okay?_ , she seems to ask and Sam smiles tightly and nods.

 _I'm not sure_ , he thinks.

 

***

 

They don't have anywhere to go.

Dean's not in any shape to fight and Sam's too busy watching Dean and it's not like they have a home to go to, anyway.

Dean's sleeping and Sam has his phone open, scrolling through the list of numbers that don't mean anything: All people that would hook him up with a new set of tires and some holy water if he needed it, but that's just nuts and bolts and nothing that can put his brother back together.

He stops on Missouri's number. Dad found his answer in her, why can't he?

"Sam?" she asks, her voice sounding tired and tinny in the small motel room.

The muscles in his throat don't work. After two weeks of watching Dean like he might fall apart, Sam feels raw and cut up on the inside, stripped bare and he doesn't have anything left to lie to Missouri with.

"We're lost," he says dully.

"Then come on home," she says and Sam's legs nearly sag with relief.

 

***

 

Dean doesn't protest when Sam tells them they're going to see Missouri. He's taken up smoking some time in the past week and the acrid smell of nicotine clings to everything they touch. He smells like very run-down motel room they've been in now, like somewhere along the way he'd stopped being himself and sank into his surroundings.

Sometimes he wanders off for hours and sometimes, he just sits on his bed while taking his gun apart, cleaning it, putting it back together, then taking it apart again.

On Wednesday, they day they leave for Missouri's, he doesn't put it together again. He leaves it in strung-out pieces on the small bedside table as he packs his duffle bag.

Sam scoops it up before they leave, wraps them together in his coat and stuffs in in the space beneath the backseat.

One day, Sam promises himself, Dean will want it again.

 

***

 

Sam listens to Metallica the whole way down, turns it up until the windows and his teeth rattle with it. Dean never says anything, just stares out the window at the shapes and colours bleeding together until he has to look away or he'll be sick.

 

***

 

Missouri doesn't run out and greet them, but she does stand in front, watching them dark, solemn eyes.

"Good to see you," she says to Sam and he can't help it, he's so glad to see a familiar face that he hugs her, tight, close as he can.

When Sam lets go of her, she turns to Dean. "And it's good to see you," she says.

Dean nods, hangs back from her.

"Why don't you boys come in?" Missouri says, opening the door for them. When Dean passes, she brushes the back of his neck in an oddly motherly gesture and Dean bites his lip hard enough to draw blood.

 

***

 

"I only have one guest room," Missouri's saying, as apologetically as she does anything, which is not very.

Sam smiles at her reassuringly. "It's fine, really."

She studies him carefully for a moment. "I guess it is."

 

***

 

Dean wanders off within the hour. When he comes back, it's with an empty bottle of tequila that Sam's pretty sure used to be full a short time ago.

"Dean," Sam goes to him and almost asks if he's okay, but he already knows the answer to that. "Can you walk?"

"M'fine, Sammy."

"Yeah," Sam says bitterly, fed up with worrying constantly about Dean only to have him look at Sam like he's an idiot. "I can see that, because drinking before lunch is the epitome of _fine_."

"Right," Dean says, equally pissed now. "You're really one to judge, Sam. All tore up about your girlfriend. No one can be upset about anything but Sam, 'cause he has the grief market all to himself."

"You're a mean drunk."

"Runs in the family."

"What the _hell_ is the matter with you?"

Dean looks away. "You wouldn't understand."

Sam feels like pulling his hair out, maybe Dean's too. "What wouldn't I understand? I'm here for you, Dean. I'm _here_."

"I don't, it's not. It's not about you."

"Why can't you see that you have me, Dean? This isn't some fucking movie. You don't have to go through whatever the hell you're going through all by your heroic lonesome."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean warns.

"Or what?" Sam taunts him. An angry Dean is better than the broken one.

"Or I swear to God, I'll shut you up myself."

"Then do it."

Dean throws the first punch, as always, and Sam manages to step back so it only his him in the shoulder. He reminds himself to be more careful. Even drunk, Dean's still a hell of a dangerous fighter.

Sam pulls Dean close and soon it's wrestling desperately against each other, angry and panting.

"Fuck you," Sam says and the heel of Dean's hand catches him in the chin, snapping his head back far enough to see stars.

"No, _fuck you_. Fuck you for leaving and fuck you for coming back."

"You brought me back, asshole." Sam grunts and knocks Dean's head to the floor.

"Only because I thought, I thought-" Dean's gasping for breath and this is so familiar, like putting on a pair of favorite old jeans you'd forgotten about.

"You thought _what?_ "

" _I thought I could trust myself._ " The words are wrenched from Dean's throat, distorted by alcohol and stale cigarettes and grief.

Sam stops, then. "You can."

"I can't. I didn't. I never thought - Dad would have never walked into a trap like that. And you, I'm not. I _can't_ , Sammy."

Sam pulls Dean close then, right there on Missouri's floor and she might come home soon, but he doesn't care. This is some kind of circle, he thinks. They need to break out of it.

"It's not up to you," Sam tells Dean. He feels Dean's eyelashes fluttering against his neck. His jaw hurts and he moves it experimentally.

Dean pulls back, confused. "What?"

"I said it's not up to you. You can't trust yourself, fine. Then I'll trust you enough for the both of us."

Dean has nothing to say in the overwhelming presence of Sam's faith in him, but his body, taught and hard with angry self-doubt, goes soft against Sam's. _Finally_.

 

***

 

They stay with Missouri for a month, doing odd jobs around the house. Missouri teaches Sam how to control his visions better while Dean secretly leaves bowls of milk out for the stray cat that lives under Missouri's bushes.

"We could," Dean says, "we could stay."

Sam laughs. "I don't think Missouri'd like that."

"No, I mean would could get a place here and just...stay."

Sam looks at Dean carefully, at his hands which thump restlessly against the side of the truck, the way his feet shuffle when Sam makes him uncomfortable.

"Not yet," Sam says, "but some day. Soon."

When Sam puts his bag in the backseat, the pieces of Dean’s gun rattle together, wrapped in the safe cocoon of Sam's jacket, waiting to become whole again. It’s a promise that both of them hear.

 

END.  
(for real, I am done.)  
  



End file.
